


Possessed

by sonderwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Blood and Injury, Break Up, Dehydration, Demonology, Hospitalization, M/M, Memory Alteration, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Philosophy, Police, Starvation, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26245513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonderwrites/pseuds/sonderwrites
Summary: Harry had a semi-normal life with his husband, Tom. Though recently he had begun to feel like something was just off. Like some of his memories had been erased. Hadn't he been possessed by a demon a few years ago?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49
Collections: Tomarry Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Possessed

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Tomarry Reverse Big Bang 2020, and was inspired by the wonderful art by Anna_Hopkins!

August 2019

Harry put Tom in charge of cutting the potatoes, whilst he set to work on cooking the bacon. Tom always insisted that he help Harry cook, despite not being capable of cooking to save his life, and so Harry always gave him easy tasks like chopping up vegetables. Tonight they were making soup. 

Harry had been married to Tom for almost a year now, but he still remembered when they’d first met, back in 2016. Tom had been crashing at his friend's house, who lived in the same apartment block as Harry, and he’d just kept bumping into him a few times. Eventually, they actually spoke, and soon enough, they started dating. Tom got kicked out by his friend, and went to live somewhere else, but Harry kept on seeing him, and now, well, he’d be with him forever (hopefully). 

Harry had found out that Tom was a murderer on their eleventh date, and that should have been a massive turnoff, and it was for a few weeks, but Harry couldn’t deny that although it’s awful, he was still in love with Tom. Even if he murders people, it doesn’t make him a bad person in any other way, right? Harry still gets very slightly sick in his stomach whenever Tom goes out to do his night jobs, but he’s more used to it now. 

Hold on a second.

Something didn’t seem right here. 

But Harry didn’t know _what_.

“Harry, are you okay?” Tom asked worriedly, stopping his chopping and going over to check on Harry.

“I-” Harry paused. He had a headache now, and he had no clue why. “I’ll be fine, I just… mustn’t have gotten enough sleep last night.”

Tom rubbed a few circles on Harry’s back. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Harry nodded, but he _wasn’t_ sure.

This had happened a few weeks ago as well, hadn’t it? Tom got back one night and still had a few bits of blood on him. Harry had then gone into some kind of flashback, but he didn’t know why. It wasn’t even _his_ memories, despite it seeming like he was in them. It had been too quick to comprehend, but afterwards, Harry was left with a massive headache like now, and a lot of confusion. 

“Tom, I…” Harry was suddenly starting to come up with the most random conspiracy theory that came from absolutely no evidence, but it just seemed _right_. “This might sound crazy, and I apologise, but… well… were you, you know, always human?”

Harry felt embarrassed as soon as he said it, and Tom started laughing, until he realised that Harry looked serious, and he fell silent. 

“What’s this about?” Tom asked, his brow creased. 

“I’m not sure, weird stuff has just been happening recently,” Harry said. “Just forget about it. I’m sorry, it’s stupid.”

Tom sighed, and muttered under his breath, “I knew it would break eventually.”

Harry heard the comment, but didn’t say anything, despite it adding to his confusion even more.

Eventually, Tom looked Harry straight in the eye, and said slowly, “You once told me that if things had been different, you would consider.”

“Consider what?” Harry asked, stepping back slightly.

“Loving me. Or something like that at least,” Tom explained.

“But I _do_ love you, Tom. I promise,” Harry said.

Tom sighed again, then inhaled deeply. “I know you do, Harry. But you didn’t always.”

“What’s going on, Tom? Talk to me,” Harry said, now more concerned for Tom than the weird things that were happening to himself.

“I won’t tell you, I’ll… I’ll show you…” Tom put his fingers to Harry’s forehead, and Harry didn’t have enough time to question what was happening before the memories came flooding back.

***

April 2016

Before Harry opened his eyes, he could feel something cold and hard beneath him, and it certainly wasn’t his bed, like he’d expected to wake up in. Perhaps he was on the floor. Although, he wasn’t prone to falling off beds, and he couldn’t remember having any drinks last night. 

Finally, Harry slowly opened his eyes, and adjusted to the morning light surrounding him. Slowly, he got up, and rubbed at his cheekbone which was hurting from being pressed against the ground all night. He ran his hand through his hair, then unsteadily made his way to the bathroom. 

He looked up at the mirror and what did he see? Well, it couldn’t possibly be him! But clearly, it was. He was covered in blood. From his hair, to his feet, he now noticed, looking down. He held his hands up and stared at the blood stains, shaking. What could he have possibly done? 

Harry stumbled back out of the bathroom, still staring at his hands numbly. He fell onto the sofa, and must have sat on the remote, because the TV flickered on. 

“A man was brutally stabbed to death in Cecil Court last night. The body that was found this morning is yet to be identified, but the police are looking for anyone who could be an eyewitness to help find a lead on the case. Police aren’t sure if the killer is planning on any other attacks, however they are urging people to remain vigilant and report anything suspicious to the police,” said the reporter. 

Harry continued to shake. But now he was scared. Even more scared than before. What if he had been the one who murdered that man? He sure as hell looked guilty. He might as well turn himself in. But then again, he didn’t _remember_ doing anything, no matter how much blood was on him, so how was he to know that he was the one who committed the murder? There was probably some other murderer out there, and all Harry had to do was stay vigilant, like the police said. No, he definitely didn’t sleep-murder. That was impossible. 

Harry had a headache. But all he wanted to do was have a shower to get off whoever’s blood was on him, and then go about daily life like nothing ever happened. Perhaps he could pretend it was all a dream. He clutched his head and got up, heading to the bathroom again. He got undressed—more blood galore—took one more nervous look in the mirror, and then hopped into a nice, warm, relaxing shower that cleared his mind, despite the red-coloured water streaming down. Once he was positive all the blood had been cleaned off, he dried himself, and got ready for a normal day’s work. Normal. Maybe see Ron’s reaction when he tells him what a weird dream he had last night. A dream. Which had happened on a normal night. And now he was going to have a normal day.

***

Harry sat at his desk, sipping his coffee. He felt pretty weird today, like there was something moving inside of him. He had probably just had a rough night. Ron came over to him and poked his arm. Harry spun around to face him and raised an eyebrow.

“Did you see the news? About the murder? Bloody scary…” Ron said. 

Harry nodded, trying to suppress the sudden rise of anxiety and look normal.

“Yeah, pretty spooky,” Harry agreed, avoiding discussing the topic further. 

Though Harry tried, he couldn’t bring himself to focus for the rest of the day. He couldn’t ignore it any longer, he _must_ have had something to do with that murder, why else would there have been blood all over him when he woke up? But all he could really do is hope it didn’t happen again tomorrow morning.

But if Harry hadn’t thought so before, he _knew_ he was going mad now, when he arrived home, still quivering from head to toe from today’s stressful thoughts. There was another thought in his head, but it didn’t belong to him; it couldn’t. Well more a voice than just any old thought. The voice was deep, crisp, and crawling with a tone that seemed to send shivers down his spine.

“Harry,” it said. Harry jumped, and held his head, trying to just make it go away. He was just making it up. It was the nerves. He wasn’t going mad. He wasn’t, he wasn't… But the voice didn’t go away. It stayed. Just as before. Once Harry stopped trying to force it out for a second, the voice started again. “Harry, it wasn’t you who murdered that man.”

Harry doesn’t really know whether or not to relax at that. Because he either made it up to comfort himself, which means he could still have done it, or he didn’t make up that voice and he was most definitely going mad. But surely, surely the voice was done now and Harry could go back to normal life.

Or not. “Well, in a way, yes it was you. I was using your body,” continued the voice. 

Harry opened his mouth, and stared, confused, into the distance, as if looking at the source of this voice, and trying to comprehend what on earth it was talking about. Harry didn’t even properly understand what it said, so it took a while to register. But if your thoughts take a while to register does that mean they’re not your own? Probably not, since when could your thoughts _not_ belong to you? 

Harry finally replied to the voice. Out loud, because why not? It seemed more natural. Not that any of this is natural. “Y- you killed that person?”

“Yes,” the voice said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it had no idea how Harry could not know that. If the thing had a brain, which it probably didn’t, because it didn’t exist, it would notice that of course Harry didn’t know that because Harry didn’t understand anything at all right now. Maybe he was still dreaming. 

“Wh- who are you?” Harry asked. 

He was still talking out loud, so anyone that just happened to be listening in would be very concerned. Unless of course he just _thought_ he was talking out loud. Maybe none of this was even real. Maybe he never even met Ron, or anyone. Maybe he had never done anything at all before. Maybe he didn’t even exist. But he must. He was thinking, therefore he should exist, right? But like he had wondered before, were these thoughts his own, were even the ones he’s thinking now, that aren’t spoken by the voice, his own?

“My name is Voldemort,” said the voice. 

Now Harry knew he couldn’t be making it up, because what kind of name is ‘Voldemort’? Unless his brain had just decided to put together random sounds, this guy was the real deal. But whether or not that meant Harry was mad, was another question entirely. 

“Um. Okay. but _what_ are you?” Harry questioned, fearing the answer.

“I’m a demon and I possess your body every night to murder random people, because I can,” Voldemort said bluntly. 

“Wait— _every_ night?” Harry gulped. How long had this been going on? Why hadn’t he noticed?  
  
  


“Well, every night starting from last night. It’ll happen again tonight,” Voldemort explained casually. 

Harry thought he had broken a sweat now. 

“Is there a way I can make you, you know, _not_ do that?”

“Not really.”

“Oh. But I kinda don’t want innocent people to die, or for me to go to jail.”

“Don’t worry, I’m skilled, you won’t be convicted.” Somehow that wasn’t comforting. 

Harry didn’t want to go to sleep, for fear that Voldemort would strike again, killing an innocent human being, but he’d have to sleep eventually, or else it’d be _him_ dying. Voldemort wasn’t shutting up though, so it would take a lot of effort to actually fall asleep with the constant yammering in his head about who knows what. 

Harry thought about going to see a therapist, but he was scared about what they might think of him, and, as Voldemort decided to remind him, he didn’t have enough money, anyway. Instead, Harry used the internet to find out what could possibly be wrong with him, refusing to believe that he was possessed. 

Turned out he probably had had some traumatic life experiences, like, say, _waking up covered in someone else’s blood_? He could have schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, or even, he realised as he dug deeper into his google search quest for answers, dissociative identity disorder. Although, every time Harry decided that he probably had something, he would hear Voldemort sigh, and say, “nope”. 

Harry researched late into the night, refusing to go to sleep, despite Voldemort constantly saying, “I’m not just saying _go to sleep_ so I can possess your body, I’m actually genuinely concerned about your health”, as if Harry would believe the demon. 

At around 6am, though, Harry lost the battle with sleep, and passed out on his desk. And it was definitely his desk, Harry remembers. So why had he woken up on the floor, blood-soaked again? Harry could already tell he was covered in blood before he even opened his eyes, and he muttered out a half-hearted groan, choking slightly as his throat decided to swell up when he refused to cry. Harry wasn’t going to check the news this time, he would just wash himself clean of blood again, and maybe call in sick to work. After all, he was sleep-deprived, and he was pretty sure work had already started, anyway. 

When Harry hopped in the shower, Voldemort started speaking again. So that was just great, it meant it hadn’t just been something he’d made up about the previous day. It had, and was still happening. “Sorry it’s a… lot of blood to clean up,” Voldemort said. 

Harry jumped slightly when he spoke, and quickly clutched at the wall so that he didn’t fall to his death in the shower. But what a scene the shower would be if he did. Blood-on-blood. Truly a gruesome spectacle. 

“Hey, are you looking?” Harry snapped, noticing he was completely naked, and for all he knew, Voldemort could be perving right this second. 

“I’m not, and I can only use your body parts when you’re asleep, so no eyes for me, just this weird mess of a mind you got going on here to look at, but your eyes are really bad anyway, you should get that checked,” Voldemort said. 

“I have glasses, you know,” Harry said. He could feel Voldemort having an “oh” moment. 

“Thank you for finally letting me know, took you long enough. I could have had much neater murders if I could actually _see_ ,” Voldemort grumbled.

Harry’s gut twisted at the mention of the murders. Even after waking up with blood on him, and seeing news reports on the TV of murder, he still didn’t quite believe it. Or more like, he couldn’t quite register that they were actually happening. That real human beings were dying. And one would die every night by his hand. A possessed hand, but still his own. Maybe he would really only start believing it when he actually saw someone die. But honestly, he actually probably wouldn’t quite believe it was really happening, even then. 

Harry abruptly turned off the shower when he remembered he still hadn’t called in sick for work, and people were probably wondering where he was. He got out and dried himself, his towel staining with blood, because he hadn’t quite washed it all off. He made sure his hands were sparkly clean twice before he picked up his phone and called in. Two hours late. That’s what happens when you don’t sleep. And Harry's body probably actually hadn’t had any sleep, with Voldemort using it, which is why he felt more exhausted than he’d ever felt before, and almost didn’t make it to his bed before he fell asleep again.

Harry had woken up around midday, his heart racing. He quickly opened his eyes, but was relieved to find that no new blood had appeared—Voldemort explained that he was only going to murder at night—but he did notice that his bed was still stained with some blood that Harry hadn’t managed to clean off before, so off he went for yet another shower. It was halfway through the day, and Harry hadn’t eaten a single thing, so after his shower, he went to eat something that was a weird mash of breakfast and lunch. 

“I eat children for breakfast,” Voldemort said abruptly. 

Harry was disgusted, annoyed, very concerned, and honestly done with all this madness. So all he did was let out a very forced snort, not caring what kind of person that would make Harry, because no one else could hear Voldemort anyway. Harry had gone crazy, so despite never going to be okay with people eating children, Harry had an excuse to laugh at the very twisted comment.

“Well at least I _did_ , before I was expelled from hell,” Voldemort continued. 

“You can be expelled from hell?” Harry asked. 

He didn’t believe in heaven and hell, but he had only really heard about being expelled from heaven, certainly not hell, where souls go to suffer for eternity. Harry assumed that if Voldemort and hell really were real, Voldemort would be the one doing the torturing, but what if it had actually been Voldemort who was being punished in hell? Harry was sure you could eat children no matter what role you had. 

“It’s not exactly _the_ hell, it’s just any old demon dimension, but yeah. I wanted to implement some new laws, but everyone is so old, and doesn’t like change, so they disagreed and sent me down here. It’s like hell for demons. But I found a book on possessing before I left, so I’m not walking around, vulnerable to slayers and such,” Voldemort explained. “So _you_ get to have me instead.”

“Lucky me,” Harry said numbly.

***

It had been almost a week of the same thing. Murder every night, long shower, calling in sick. Harry felt himself caring less and less about the poor people who had died, feeling utterly detached from life. He told his work everyday that he’d be back soon, but he knew he wouldn’t. This was his life now, and would be until he died. Harry was like the passenger in his life now. Voldemort was the driver. Harry numbly moved through life, lying around all day talking to Voldemort as his sanity faded away even more, and then Voldemort would take charge every night. Harry’s detachment began to reinstate the belief that nothing was real. Nothing was ever real. He hadn’t had anyone but Voldemort’s company for a week, and slowly Voldemort seemed to feel more real than anything else. Maybe Harry was really Voldemort, and this was all just a dream. And his memories were just made up, because he felt like imagining life as a human.

It was because of all this, that Harry got an extra big shock when Ron arrived at his door on Sunday. Harry had cared about making sure he scrubbed himself fully clean less and less, so he quickly hid the bloodied parts of himself when Ron came in. When he had been knocking, Harry hadn’t moved, but Ron had his own keys, ever since he house-sat for Harry and never gave them back, so he came in anyway. 

Harry didn’t make any gesture to assure Ron that he knew he was there, and instead he just lay with his face on the bench, watching Ron. 

“Sorry mate, I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this, but I just wanted to see if you were okay. You haven’t been in to work in ages,” Ron said. Harry continued to just watch. Ron cautiously stepped closer. Harry didn’t move a muscle, and didn’t even move his eyes to focus on the new spot Ron was in. “How are you doing?” Ron asked tentatively. 

“Are you going to say something?” Harry heard Voldemort say impatiently. 

“No, he’s not real anyway,” Harry grumbled.

“Sorry, what was that?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow in concern.

Harry had forgotten that he was still talking to Voldemort out loud, but what did it matter? He had no way of knowing if Ron was really there or not. 

Ron stepped closer and Harry didn't move or flinch, even when Ron reached his hand out and placed it on Harry’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Ron asked urgently.

The sudden touch of another human sent at least some of Harry’s senses going again. He looked up at Ron, focusing in on the brightest colour which was his red hair, and blinked. 

“Ron…” Harry said.

“Yes, it’s me,” Ron said, looking very worried as he stroked Harry’s shoulder. 

“Ron, I… I think I want it to stop,” Harry told him, dropping his hands and lifting his head, looking at Ron as if he had some magical ability to just solve all of Harry’s problems like that. 

“Stop what? Stop me? Because you can’t, you know. You can’t get rid of me,” Voldemort said. Harry ignored him this time. He was once again switching his beliefs about what was real and what wasn’t. Ron had to be the real one, and Voldemort wasn’t. 

“What is it that you want to stop?” Ron asked carefully, looking Harry up and down. He gasped, and picked up Harry’s hands which still had some blood stained on it. “Harry, what’s been happening?” 

“It’s everywhere… the blood. He does it. Every night. He kills someone,” Harry said slowly.

Ron paused. “Who’s ‘he’?”

“Um. Voldemort,” Harry said carefully. “He says he’s a demon.”

“Hey! Don’t tell him,” Voldemort hissed. Harry ignored him. 

“Oh, Harry, I really don’t think you’re okay,” Ron said. 

“You need to leave. Before I fall asleep and he… he could kill you…” Harry swallowed. 

Ron was silent for a moment as he brushed his hand through Harry’s jet-black hair. Harry still didn’t move.

“I think I should stay here, okay? You’re not well,” Ron said with finality.

“No, don’t!” Harry said urgently. “I don’t wanna lose you…”

“You won’t,” Ron promised.

***

Harry woke up the next day to find that thankfully Ron was still alive. He looked very freaked out though, and Harry once again was drenched in blood. 

“We need to do something about this,” Ron said just as Harry woke up. 

Harry hadn’t woken up on the floor this time, and he assumed that Ron had moved him. Instead, he was sitting right next to Ron on the couch. Slowly, Harry sat up and stared unblinkingly at the fresh blood. After a while he turned to Ron.

“Did you see him?” Harry asked.

“Oh yeah,” Ron said, his eyes going wide as he remembered. “He’s creepy. But more in the sense that my best friend is possessed and is murdering people, other than that he didn’t seem too bad.”

“Really?” Harry was more just relieved that if Ron _was_ real, then at least he had met Voldemort too, and unless Ron and Harry were both mad, then, well, maybe this _was_ real. 

“Look, I’ve got to go get something, but you stay here, okay? I’ll be right back,” Ron told him. 

As soon as Ron left, Voldemort started coming up with theories about what Ron could possibly be getting, and Harry just sat on the couch staring at the wall until Ron came back. But, well, when Ron _did_ come back, it did jog Harry’s senses a bit. He blinked at what Ron was holding. Some… chains?

“Um. Ron?” Harry said. “What’s- why—?”

“Oh god no,” Voldemort muttered.

“I think if we chain you up at night, Voldemort won’t be able to do anything and therefore no more murders,” Ron explained. 

Harry nodded and looked the chains up and down. 

“Well okay then. I guess I’ll try them tonight,” Harry said. “Um, you can go. You don’t have to stay.”

“No, I think I will stay, you need someone to help chain you up. Besides, you _really_ need some company,” Ron said. “Also, please take a shower or something, it looks like you haven’t washed in weeks.”

“I have! Well, half-heartedly, but still only for a few days! Not a few weeks!” Harry said. 

***

Ron fastened the restraints further, as Harry gritted his teeth, anxiously awaiting the night ahead. What was going to happen? Would the chains hold Voldemort, or will he break free? What if Voldemort gets mad and doesn’t give Harry his body back? All the while, Voldemort complained at the back of Harry’s head, trying to tell him that the chains really weren’t worth all the effort.

Harry had given up on sleeping in his bed a while ago, because he’d either pass out in the most random spots, or… actually no, that’s just what happened every night. It was weird then to actually be sleeping on his bed, and despite having his wrists and ankles shackled, it was a shock to discover just how comfy his bed was. Honestly, he could just melt into it. 

Ron sat in Harry’s desk chair across from him, and refused to go to sleep despite Harry’s protests, because Ron had decided to stay up and watch what happens with Voldemort. Harry was concerned though, because he didn’t actually know if Ron got any sleep the previous night. 

***

When Harry awoke, he found Ron asleep in the chair, but what surprised Harry was the lack of blood on himself he was experiencing, and the fact that he wasn’t on the ground. The chains had… worked. 

“Ok, great,” began Voldemort. “Fun experiment, but how about we don’t do this again tonight?” 

“Oh I think we will,” Harry said. “Do you have any idea how traumatic it is to wake up _every_ morning covered in blood?”

“Do you have any idea how traumatic it is to start possessing someone’s body only to have to lie there, all night, _trapped_. There’s no escape, Harry. No escape. Plus I was bored out of my mind,” Voldemort said.

“I think my excuse was better,” Harry said.

Suddenly, Ron stirred in the seat, and lifted his head from the desk it had flopped itself onto. 

“Ow,” Ron said as he slowly opened his eyes and yawned. When he noticed Harry, it was like he had been awake for hours, and sprung over to him. “Harry! Thank god you’re alive.”

“I’m not the one who gets murdered every night, remember?” Harry said. 

“I know, but I kept dreaming that when Voldemort noticed he was trapped, he… you know…” Ron said.

“Well, I’m alive,” Harry forced a smile. “I think you should go though, you’ve been at my house for two days, and you really need some proper sleep.” 

“Do you want me to untie you first?” Ron offered.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll find a way to do it myself later,” Harry promised.

“If you say so,” Ron made for the door, then locked it again on his way out. 

Harry lay in silence for a moment, blinking up at the roof.

“You’re never unchaining yourself, are you?” said Voldemort.

“Nope,” Harry replied.

“Rude,” grumbled Voldemort. 

***

Voldemort… wasn’t that bad of a guy. Okay, poor choice of words. Voldemort was a very bad guy, having previously killed a person each night, but if you actually just had a normal conversation with him, he was kinda… sweet? In a dark, twisted kind of way. Harry hadn’t actually properly spoken to Voldemort this whole time, because he was just too broken after all the you-know-whats, but now that he knew the world was safe from the wrath of Voldemort, Harry could talk more freely. Sure, Voldemort may just be an entity living in Harry’s mind, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have interesting world views and things.

Voldemort was also concerned for Harry’ health, whether that be because he was actually concerned for _Harry’s_ sake, or because he didn’t want to be in a degrading body, Harry wasn’t sure, but nevertheless he seemed to care.

“You need to eat,” Voldemort told him. “And have some water. You’re going to die in a few days if you don’t.”

“I’m not unchaining myself,” Harry said stubbornly. “And some people can live up to three weeks without water, so why can’t I?”

“Because you’re not in a good place physically _and_ mentally. Also, tell me you’re considering unchaining yourself _before_ those three weeks are up, because I highly doubt it. Harry, you’ll _die_. Dying isn't good at all,” Voldemort replied.

“Since when did you think that? You literally kill people as a hobby. Those people _die_ ,” Harry said.

“Yes, but I don't care about them. I care about _you_ , Harry,” Voldemort said.

“Because I play host for the parasite that is you?” 

“Well, yes, but also… Look, the point is; you need to go hydrate.” 

Harry moved his dry tongue around his even dryer mouth, longing desperately to feel water pouring down his desert of a throat. But he couldn’t. If he unchained himself… well he didn’t know what would happen.

“I’m calling Ron,” Voldemort said.

“You can’t,” Harry said. Not even I can reach my phone from here.”

“I have a loud voice,” Voldemort reasoned.

“Ron lives on the other side of London. Can you yell _that_ loud?” Harry asked. He heard Voldemort do a bit of a grumble, then go silent for a moment. Though, only a moment, then he was back to chatting. 

***

“You’re going to die,” is the single first thing Harry heard in the morning. Obviously it was Voldemort.

“Great,” Harry said half-heartedly.

“ _We’re_ going to die,” Voldemort continued.

“You sure? Won’t you just go back to your demon dimension or something?” Harry asked.

“You need help,” Voldemort said. “I’m betting you have a day and then there’ll be a dead body in this bed. You really need to get out, Harry. You _really_ need to.”

Harry ignored him. Yes, his stomach was demanding food; yes, his mouth was way too dry; yes, he had a terrible headache and couldn’t think straight at all; yes, his vision was blurry, even if he even slept in his glasses; and yes, he didn’t care. He was practically dead already, and when he did die, it’d be for the greater good. It would banish Voldemort, meaning he wouldn’t be able to kill anyone at all. 

***

“Harry! Oh my god, _Harry_!” Ron quickly took the bindings off of Harry and then called an ambulance. 

Harry was lying unconscious and half-dead on the bed. It looked as if he hadn’t taken off the chains at all since Ron had last been there, and he looked utterly terrible. Ron felt very guilty. Why hadn’t he come to check on him earlier? He’d probably just killed his best friend… 

***

Harry awoke in a hospital bed. But woah, this was new. He wasn’t shackled and yet he had no blood on him.

It took him a while to recount what had last happened. He had just gotten so _overwhelmed_ and his body couldn’t take his lack of care anymore. He had thought he had died. But clearly, he hadn’t. He must have just passed out. Harry couldn’t tell if he was happy about that or not.

He looked around and noticed Ron sitting on a chair opposite the hospital bed. Immediately, Ron sprung to his feet and ran over to Harry.

“Harry! Thank god you’re awake!” Ron said. “Oh yeah there’s some food here for you. Please eat it.”

Ron pointed to the tray on Harry’s bed, filled with food. Harry gave in and started eating it immediately. Though, he felt full already after a small bit, and flopped back onto his bed, exhausted. He turned his head to the bedside table and noticed a large old book sitting there with a strange marking on the front. Like some kind of sigil. 

Harry then realised that Ron was talking to him, and he tuned into that.

“And I thought you were going to die, Harry! I’m just so glad you’re alive, Harry, I…” Ron was saying.

“Ron, what’s that?” Harry’s patience wasn’t at its best right now, and he really just wanted to know what on earth that strange book was for, and what was it doing in a hospital? There weren’t usually witchy things in hospitals, were there? 

“Oh, this?” Ron picked up the book. “It’s actually a demonology book. I found it at Watkins Books.”

“I have no idea what that place is,” Harry mumbled.

“Oh it’s a sort of magick bookshop on Cecil Court,” Ron explained. 

Harry could hear his heart rate quicken on the monitor at the mention of Cecil Court. That had been where the first murder had taken place. The first murder Voldemort had supposedly committed in Harry’s body. Ron noticed the sudden change in heart rate too, and looked worriedly at the monitor for a second.

“By the way,” Ron said, “is it… quieter in your head now?”

Harry only now noticed the silence that had taken the place of the usually overly chatty Voldemort. Was Voldemort gone? What had Ron done?

“Um, yeah, actually,” Harry said. 

“Oh that’s good,” Ron said, looking quite relieved. “You see, I may have attempted to exorcise Voldemort from you using a spell I found…”

Harry could hear a ‘but’ coming on, and so he prompted, “But?”

“But I don’t think I did it right and I wanted to make sure he really was gone,” Ron explained. “But it turns out it did, and so let’s hope he’s back wherever he came from enjoying a nice hot cup of human blood or whatever he drinks.” 

Harry smiled for Ron’s sake. Ron’s sake and not out of happiness because Harry actually kind of missed Voldemort. It was a weird thought. He had hated, despised the demon, and wished every moment for a bit of peace whether in death, or Voldemort’s departure. And now that he was gone, it was like a part of him was missing and he wanted it back, even though he should be celebrating. This was such good news. But apparently not. 

***

A tall man with a curly flop of dark hair on one side of his face walked into Harry’s hospital room, and Harry stared at him as he walked in.

“Hello, Harry,” the voice was smooth. Familiar.

“Who are you?” Harry asked. “How did you get in here?”

“I told them I was family. And I practically am,” said the man. He crept closer to Harry and leaned towards him. “It’s Voldemort.”

Harry’s mouth fell open, and he moved back a bit in his bed. He really didn’t know whether he should be frightened that a murderer was in such close vicinity in his _own_ body, or excited that he could finally see Voldemort.

“Voldemort? I didn’t expect you to be so sexy,” Harry said, then clasped his mouth shut as his cheeks went red. “Did I say ‘sexy’? Um, sorry, I meant… Actually I don’t know what I meant. Ignore me.” Harry said very quickly. 

Voldemort chuckled. “It’s alright. Besides, I just took on this human form. Though I’m sure you would find horns and wings even more ‘sexy’.” 

“Wait, how are you here? Ron said he sent you back to where you came from,” Harry said. “Unless… did you come from…?”

“Actually, the spell just didn’t work entirely properly. It happens though, you know. Exorcism is powerful magick, and Ron was a beginner. I have to say though, I do enjoy this a whole lot more,” Voldemort explained. 

“Right, so you’re just going to live as a human? I don’t think I know any humans with the name ‘Voldemort’ though, just be warned. Oh and I suppose you’ll be a professional assassin, then?” Harry asked. 

“Actually I was thinking of going with the human name ‘Tom’,” Voldemort told him.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Tom? That’s a bit… un-extravagant for you.”

“I just like it,” Voldemort shrugged. “So feel free to call me ‘Tom’, it’ll probably sound more natural, as well. 

“Ok, Tom,” Harry smiled. “But you can leave and never come back now. Hanging out with murderers isn’t exactly on my bucket list when I get the choice.”

“But what about _sexy_ murderers?” Tom asked, grinning. He looked good in a smile. 

“Still a no,” Harry said stubbornly. 

“If you say so…” Tom stood up straight again, and walked out the door. 

***

When Harry was allowed back home, the first thing he did was bake something. Something about using his hands to bring something tasty into the universe seemed to ground him, which he had been having trouble with since the whole Voldemort incident. 

Whilst his muffins were in the oven, he threw out the chains which were still on the bed, and then began to clean his whole house so that he could finally feel fresh and relaxed, and enjoy his baked goods.

Things were looking up, and it was a really good feeling after the terrible roller coaster the last few weeks were. 

But the good feeling vanished when Harry had an unexpected visitor. It was Tom… 

“Hello, Harry,” Tom said.

Harry jumped and spun around. “How did you get in here?”

Tom shrugged. “I have my ways.” He walked over to Harry and picked up a muffin. “Can I have one?”

“Well you already picked one up…” Harry said, as Tom began to eat it anyway. 

There was a moment of silence where all that could be heard was the chewing sounds coming from Tom.

“So,” Harry began passive-aggressively, “kill anyone recently?”

“Oh, yeah, actually,” Tom said. “They were this really-”

“I don’t need details, thanks!” Harry said loudly to muffle out whatever Tom was saying.

“You don’t like me murdering people?” Tom asked innocently. As if that was a question!

“Obviously! Haven’t I told you enough times?” Harry growled. “Why did you think I chained myself to that bed for so long?”

“But I just thought that since I had my own body…”

“It’s still not okay, Tom. Got that? Murder is never okay,” Harry said forcefully. “Now can you leave me be?”

“Oh. Well I tell you what… I’ll never murder anyone ever again if you marry me,” Tom smiled.

“What the actual heck? I don’t know if you realised, Tom, but I don’t like you. Plus we’ve never been on any dates. I’m not going to just marry you like that!” Harry spluttered. 

“But you said I was sexy…” Tom said, actually looking kind of hurt.

“So I’m attracted to this human form you’re wearing. It doesn’t mean I like you, and it certainly doesn’t mean I want to marry you!” Harry said. 

“Right. Sorry, not really caught up on all this human stuff, last time I was on earth most of the continents were just one big clump,” Tom said.

“You’ve been down to earth before?” Harry replied. 

“Yeah, but last time it was more of a choice,” Tom shrugged. “So basically, I’m sorry. I suppose marriage was a bit… over-ambitious. Even for me. How about just a date?”

“No, Tom! I don’t like you!” Harry hissed. “Now can you leave?” 

Tom sighed, but thankfully he left, albeit it very grumpily. 

***

Soon, Harry was good to go back to work. Thankfully, he was still allowed to keep his job, and on his first day back, Ron was there to greet him with a giant hug. 

It was weird trying to get back into the swing of things. After all, he hadn’t been to work in a few weeks, and during that time, he hadn't exactly been all there. 

“So Tom wants to marry me,” Harry said conversationally to Ron on their lunch break.

“Who’s Tom?” Ron asked.

“Oh that’s Voldemort’s human name,” Harry explained.

Ron burst into laughter. “He seriously wants to marry you? That’s honestly kinda cute. And creepy. I guess he just loved being inside of you, and, you know…”

“Hey, no!” Harry grumbled. He looked back down at his food, but then pushed it aside. Appetite lost.

“But anyway, do you like him back?” Ron asked.

“No way! He’s a psycho murderer demon. How could I?” Harry said, disgusted that Ron would even _think_ he’d be interested in someone like that.

“I thought you went for those kinds of people,” Ron said innocently.

“Um… no…? Why would I…?” Harry said.

“Sorry, you’re just very slightly reminding me of John for some reason. I’ve been watching Sherlock recently. I can’t wait for season 4!” Ron said happily. 

“Who’s John?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You seriously don’t know? He’s Sherlock’s boyfriend. I mean, well, partner at least. Please tell me you know who Sherlock is,” Ron said.

“Of course I know who Sherlock is,” Harry said. “Sherlock Holmes, right? The detective?”

“Right,” Ron confirmed. “So anyway, I guess no Tomarry then, hey?”

“What’s Tomarry?” Harry asked. “You mean no ‘marriage’? I seriously don’t know how you can mistake ‘marriage’ for ‘to marry’, but okay.”

“Oh no, that’s just your ship name now. Or maybe… Harom. Or… what’s his last name?” Ron asked.

“Oh god please don’t do this. I don’t like him, so shipping isn’t allowed. Okay?” Harry said decisively. 

“Fine…” Ron agreed grumpily. 

***

A while later, Tom decided to show up yet again. Bursting in without an invitation, Tom ran into Harry.

“I haven’t murdered anyone for a week, Harry! Are you proud?” Tom said as soon as he came in contact with Harry. He scuttled backwards a bit. “Will you consider a date now?”

Harry wasn’t in the mood to be annoyed at Tom. Instead, he just felt sorry for Tom. 

He put his hand on his shoulder. “Tom, you didn’t have to do that. I mean, yeah, I’m glad people didn’t die, but no one should have to change just to get someone to love them, even if they’re going from evil to good. So don’t go for Buffy, find your Drusilla.”

“What? Are those names? Demons tend to have weird names, but I’ve never heard of _those_ before,” Tom said.

“Okay, definitely not marrying someone who doesn't get pop culture references. Anyway, the point is, I’m not interested in you. Okay, Tom? So just let it go,” Harry smiled softly, and released his hand from Tom’s shoulder.

Tom wasn’t hearing it. “At this point I would probably just put you under a love potion or something, but seeing as that was how I was conceived, I’m not really sure it’s the best moral option…”

“Demons are _conceived_?” Harry said, a little bit surprised. “Anyway, doesn’t matter. Just go, Tom, okay? I’m sorry but I’ll never love you.” 

Tom watched Harry for a moment longer, but eventually he said, “okay. I’m sorry.” 

***

“Tom, are you okay? What happened?” Harry asked, as he walked into Tom’s new room at the hospital. He’d just gotten a call that Tom was here.

“I thought you didn’t care about me?” Tom said weakly.

Harry shrugged.

“Well I was doing the not changing like you said,” Tom explained, “and so I went out to kill someone, but then I got shot.”

“And you’re hurt? I didn’t think demons could be hurt by a bullet wound,” Harry said.

Tom paused for a second. “Yeah. About that… this body I’m in, well, it’s not just a suit, it’s who I am now. I’m a human. I’m a sexy human murderer.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry…? That must suck,” Harry said. 

“Yup. I’ve got the whole package too. Mortality, the ability to be hurt by bullets, way too many emotions, the whole lot,” Tom sighed. 

“Well, good luck with that,” Harry said. He gave him a tiny kiss on the forehead. “I’ve got to go.”

Tom was actually _blushing_. Or maybe he was just burning up. Either way, his cheeks went a little red when Harry put his lips on his head, but that was the closest Tom was ever going to get to anything romantic from Harry. 

“Bye, Harry,” Tom said as Harry began to leave. “Thanks for stopping by.” 

***

Harry could tell someone was at the door, and he knew exactly _who_ as well. Why did he have to be out of the hospital already? Harry opened the door just as Tom seemed to be about to open it from his side. Harry still didn’t know how he was always getting in. Perhaps he picked the lock?

Tom looked surprised when Harry opened the door first, but then he smoothed his features over and turned it into a pleasant smile.

“Why do you have to keep coming?” Harry groaned, preparing to just close the door on Tom. Squishing him would be even better.

“I don’t really have a house,” Tom said, shrugging. “Plus I’m on the run from the police, and living in your victim’s house will just lead them right to you.”

Harry sighed. He didn’t let go of the door, so his arm was barricading Tom’s way in. He wasn’t going to let Tom in, but he wasn’t going to force him away just yet, either.

“Why do you like me so much, Tom?” Harry asked. He’d been wondering for a while. He was nothing special. Just Harry. So why would a demon like him unless they wanted to eat him or something? Although, apparently Tom was a human now.

“I lived in your body. It’s hard not to get attached,” Tom explained easily.

“No really. Why? I’m sure you wouldn’t fall in love with just anyone you happened to possess,” Harry said.

“Maybe it’s because the hormones in my new human body decided that you were my type?” Tom suggested.

Harry put his head to the side. “Love is a lot more than attraction, Tom. I don’t think it’s just that.”

“Oh. Well perhaps I haven’t figured out the difference yet,” Tom said. “But why don’t _you_ like me?”

Harry laughed a bit in disbelief, because how on earth could Tom not see why he couldn’t possibly like him?

“Let’s see… First of all, you possessed me. I went a little coocoo, starved myself, and dehydrated myself, all because of you. Oh yeah, and you murder people. Not exactly something I’d be interested in,” Harry said.

“I only had control over two of those,” Tom said, a little offended. “Look, I’m sorry about what you did to yourself, I’m sorry about the trauma I caused you, and everything else. It’s in the past, though. Can’t you forgive me?”

“No. I really can’t,” Harry said. “Minus all that, you don’t seem like that bad a guy, but apologies don’t fix everything. Maybe if things had been different, I would consider, but things _aren’t_ different. So no.”

“If things had been different?” Tom repeated, almost dreamily. 

“Yep,” Harry said. 

Tom was about to say more, but Harry had already closed the door on him.

***

August 2019

“Tom, I…” Harry was suddenly starting to come up with the most random conspiracy theory that came from absolutely no evidence, but it just seemed _right_. “This might sound crazy, and I apologise, but… well… were you, you know, always a human?”

Harry felt embarrassed as soon as he said it, and Tom started laughing, until he realised that Harry looked serious, and he fell silent. 

“What’s this about?” Tom asked, his brow creased. 

“I’m not sure, weird stuff has just been happening recently,” Harry said. “Just forget about it. I’m sorry, it’s stupid.”

Tom sighed, and muttered under his breath, “I knew it would break eventually.”

Harry heard the comment, but didn’t say anything, despite it adding to his confusion even more.

Eventually, Tom looked Harry straight in the eye, and said slowly, “you once told me that if things had been different, you would consider.”

“Consider what?” Harry asked, stepping back slightly.

“Loving me. Or something like that at least,” Tom explained.

“But I _do_ love you, Tom. I promise,” Harry said.

Tom sighed again, then inhaled deeply. “I know you do, Harry. But you didn’t always.”

“What’s going on, Tom? Talk to me,” Harry said, now more concerned for Tom than the weird things that were happening to himself.

“I won’t tell you, I’ll… I’ll show you…” Tom put his fingers to Harry’s forehead, and Harry didn’t have enough time to question what was happening before the memories came flooding back.

Harry was silent for a long minute. He felt like a knife of betrayal had been stabbed through his gut. He turned away from Tom, and stared blankly into the air.

“You lied to me,” Harry said in almost a whisper.

“Not exactly. I just turned back time, and changed it up a little,” Tom explained. He wanted to walk over to Harry, and look into those beautiful green eyes, but he knew that he shouldn’t. 

Harry still didn’t turn back to Tom. “You still never told me about the real world.”

“This _is_ the real world, it’s just not the original world,” Tom said, a little bit of desperation in his voice.

“You bent my will. Isn’t the number one rule of non-black magick that you can’t interfere with someone’s free will? I know barely anything about magick, and even I know that,” Harry said.

“But I didn’t, I swear. I changed nothing but our circumstances,” Tom said.

Harry abruptly spun around and faced Tom again so that he could see that Harry wasn’t just angry, but deeply, deeply hurt.

“Tom, I fell in love with a _murderer_. There had to have been some kind of influence for me to do that,” Harry said.

Tom paused for a moment. “Harry, I swear I did nothing more than turn back time. I would never want to hurt you. I would have let you go if you didn’t want to be with me, but trust me when I say that you really did fall in love of your own volition. No influence was used.”

Harry looked down at the ground. “I can’t believe I trust a demon who possessed my body so that he could go out and kill someone every night, and caused my trauma,” Harry said softly.

“I got rid of your trauma when we went back in time,” Tom said.

“Tom,” Harry said, looking up. “I can’t be with you. I’m sorry. I loved you, but what you did is wrong. What you _do_ is wrong. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Tom.”

Harry walked out the door, and left Tom standing there, shocked and heartbroken. Harry made his way down to the police station, and slowly shuffled up to the front desk.

“Hi, I’m, um, here to turn myself in,” Harry began. “Technically I didn’t murder anyone, but someone inside me did. They’re not here anymore, but someone’s got to pay the time. I can’t live with what my hands did…”

“...can we just start with your name, please?” asked the sergeant.


End file.
